


Sleeping Crowley

by meridian_rose (meridianrose)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Coma, Crowley Has Long Hair (Good Omens), Fairy Tale Elements, Forehead Kisses, Forehead Touching, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Power of Stories, Power of Words, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Stabbing, Whump, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), bridal carry, can probably be platonic or romantic?, nonsexual intimacy, very mildly romantic?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 14:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20819042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/pseuds/meridian_rose
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale travel to Tadfield for a picnic with Anathema, Newt, Adam, and his friends. But then Gabriel shows up and tries to kill Crowley, leaving Anathema and Aziraphale desperate to save him and Adam wanting to rewrite the story to have a happy end.





	Sleeping Crowley

"Once upon a time there was a wedding-"

"It was a picnic, Adam," Pepper put in.

"I know! But in the stories it's always a wedding or a christening or something important. Fine. Once upon a time there was a picnic and everyone was invited except the wicked-" Here Adam paused, the word 'witch' incorrect.

"The wicked angel wasn't invited," Adam said, feeling the shape of the words in his mouth, their power reaching out into the world as he spoke them. "And he was angry. So he stormed into the party - the picnic - and he cast an evil spell."

Wensleydale pushed back his glasses. "Actually he stabbed Mr Crowley."

"They didn't want us to see," Brian added.

Adam rolled his eyes. "The brave knights of the realm had been off on a quest." Seeing who could run to the oak tree and back fastest but no need to mention that. "And they returned to find the wicked angel had done a terrible thing but the good witch Anathema said she could work her magic and the wounded demon would sleep-"

For a thousand years? Adam screwed up his face in concentration. He hadn't paid attention to the finer points of the fairy stories his mother had read to him, always intrigued by the ideas but wanting more. Wanting to bend them to his will. As such the details were now somewhat hazy.

This was a stupid idea anyway. It wouldn't work.

Dog whimpered and Adam petted him.

"You're right," he told Dog. If Adam truly believed it wouldn't work then it wouldn't and that wasn't something he wanted to think about.

*

It had started out as a beautiful day, the sky cloudless, the late summer sun warm on their faces.

Crowley and Aziraphale were joining Anathema and Newt and Adam and The Them for a picnic. It had been arranged weeks ago and everyone was looking forward to it.

Aziraphale had brought a huge picnic basket full of goodies, and a tartan blanket. These joined the two other blankets Anathema had spread out at the chosen site, where a folding table held reusable plastic tumblers and wine 'glasses'. A cooler sat filled with wine and juice cartons and snacks that needed refrigeration. Newt had carried another basket filled with plates and serviettes and more food. Dog sat and made sad eyes at Aziraphale until he gave the hellhound a biscuit.

Crowley tipped back his head, basking in the sunlight. His hair was longer these days and the red tresses dangled down his back. "Lovely day for it. Was that any help from you, Master Young?"

Adam shook his head. This was just luck. "Can we go and play for a while?"

"Sure. They'll be fussing for some time yet," Crowley said though with affection in his voice.

The children dashed off, Dog barking as he chased after them, their joyful abandon as warming as the sun. The adults continued laying out enough food to feed all of Tadfield.

Aziraphale was telling Anathema all about one of the delicacies he'd brought along. Newt was surreptitiously taking handfuls of peanuts, too hungry to wait for the picnic to properly begin but having been scolded by Anathema for nibbling earlier.

Crowley poured wine and admired the wildflowers. His glass was soon empty and he put it down, about to ask if Aziraphale needed any help. However Aziraphale was sitting on a blanket adjusting pastries as if he were about to serve royalty and probably didn't require any input from Crowley.

Just as Crowley thought maybe he'd go and see what game the children were playing, there was a clap of thunder. They all looked around. The sky was still blue. The air was heavy though.

"Well, well, what do we have here?"

Newt dropped the peanuts. Crowley's blood ran cold. Anathema stared at the newcomer as Aziraphale got to his feet and lifted his chin defiantly.

"Gabriel," Aziraphale said haughtily. "What are you doing here?"

Gabriel brushed imaginary lint from his suit. "I wondered what you were up to, Aziraphale. I see you're having a picnic. You didn't invite me. How rude."

"You're not welcome here," Aziraphale said, hoping his voice wasn't trembling.

Gabriel pretended to be sad, pulling a face. "But I brought you a gift."

The word sounded like a threat. Everyone tensed.

"I think we have everything we need," Crowley said, sauntering over to put himself between Gabriel and Aziraphale. He whipped off his glasses, gave Gabriel a glare.

Gabriel sneered at him. "But you don't have one of these."

The blade was drawn from beneath his jacket in an instant. The sunlight flashed against the silver before the knife was plunged into Crowley's chest. It happened so quickly that Gabriel was two steps away before Aziraphale realised what had happened.

"Let's see him survive that," Gabriel said cheerfully and was gone.

Anathema let out a gasp. Aziraphale hurried over to Crowley who was swaying, the blade still embedded at the base of his ribs.

"Crowley! Crowley, let me see!"

Aziraphale caught Crowley as he fell, kneeling so that he could bring Crowley to rest on the grass.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley said, eyes unfocussed, voice faint. There was a small amount of dark blood staining the black shirt around the wound but no other bleeding.

"I'm here, my dear." Aziraphale patted his cheek. With his other hand he touched the hilt of the blade. It was white with gold sigils inscribed in it. The colour drained from his face.

Anathema came to kneel alongside them. "He can heal from this, right? He's a demon."

"A blessed blade." Aziraphale said more to himself than to her. He shook his head, lip trembling.

Anathema stared at him. "That's…not good. But you can help him. You're an angel." She didn't sound certain though she wanted it to be true.

He looked at her now, grief in his eyes. "I cannot undo what another angel has done." A demon inflicted injury, a human one, yes, but this, angelically inflicted and with a blessed blade no less. It was impossible.

Crowley took a painful breath. "Angel."

"I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm so sorry." Aziraphale took Crowley's hand in both of his, voice taut with emotion. "I can't heal this."

"We had fun, didn't we?" Crowley said.

Aziraphale nodded, forced a sad smile. "So much fun."

"I don't regret it. Not a moment of it."

Tears were streaming down Aziraphale's face. "Nor I."

Anathema turned to Newt who shrugged helplessly. She smoothed her hair back behind her ears.

"Let me try," she said.

Aziraphale looked at her, uncomprehending.

"What harm can it do?" she asked. She reached out and grasped the knife hilt in one hand, the palm of her other pressed to Crowley's chest.

To Aziraphale's astonishment she began reciting a spell in Enochian. He noted three things about this.

One, her pronunciation was appalling. Two, given that Enochian had never been meant to be spoken by humans [1] she was pronouncing it rather well. Three, somehow, it seemed to be working.

The knife hilt glowed. Anathema kept chanting, pulling the blade slowly from Crowley's chest. He exhaled as the metal was drawn from his flesh. The second it was free she tossed it aside. It landed on the grass, the blade now a dull grey, the hilt plain. Crowley's eyes were shut now, jaw slack.

Anathema's other hand was still pressed to Crowley's chest, a faint aura glowing around her fingers, and her chant sounded more and more like a plea.

"Stay back," Newt called as Adam and the others returned.

"What happened?" Adam demanded, pausing near Newt but with his gaze fixed on Anathema.

Anathema sat back, exhausted.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale pressed his fingers to Crowley's neck, face falling at the lack of a pulse.

Anathema took a few breaths before she could speak. "He's not dead; I can't heal him either," she said. "But I brought us time."

Adam now came to see for himself. "Newt said Gabriel did this? That's mean."

"Yes," Aziraphale said faintly. He gazed at Adam with renewed hope. "Can you undo this?"

Adam thought about it, let his powers reach out. They'd been different since the day the world hadn't ended as intended, unpredictable at times, strong sometimes and weak in some circumstances. He had more conscious control of them but they weren't as powerful. He wasn't omnipotent.[2]

"I don't think I can," Adam said, annoyed. "There's something blocking me."

Anathema frowned. "Because it's angelic?"

"No. It's stuck. Like - like a broken clock." Adam struggled to find the words.

Anathema got to her feet. "I think that's my fault. The spell I used is a sort of stasis; nothing worse can happen, so he can't die, but nor will healing occur. It was the best I could think of in a hurry."

She shook her head, put one hand to her mouth. Newt came to put his arm around her.

"I'm so sorry Aziraphale," Anathema said tearfully.

"No. No, don't be. You were trying to help." Aziraphale looked quite lost. "You said you brought us time. Time enough to fix this."

She nodded.

Aziraphale squared his shoulders. "Then we shall find a way."

He scooped Crowley up and carried him bridal style as if he weighed nothing. Crowley's head rested against Aziraphale's shoulder, long legs draped over one arm, looking as if he were sleeping.

When they got to the cottage Anathema bid him use the bedroom and Aziraphale laid Crowley down amongst the soft white pillows, gently tucking a soft fleecy throw around him.

Crowley was still as a statue. His always pale skin was the colour of alabaster. His lips held just a touch of colour, a purplish hue. Aziraphale wondered if he'd ever see the beautiful bright yellow eyes again. He stroked one flaming auburn lock, tucking it back from Crowley's face, his hair the more vibrant against the pallid skin.

"How long do we have?" Aziraphale asked.

"I don't know." Anathema hovered in the doorway. "I honestly don't know. Maybe a day. Maybe years. Maybe forever, given he's not human. But we'll find a way to save him. I know we will."

Days. Months, Years. Decades. Aziraphale's mind reeled before it got to centuries. This wouldn't do.

The image rose, unbidden, of Crowley trapped this way so long that dust settled on his face the way it gathered on books left unattended in the shop. Aziraphale shivered and asked for a damp cloth and a flannel.

"A washcloth," he clarified in case the distraught and American born Anathema tried to bring him a flannel shirt.

Anathema supplied both a cloth and a basin of warm water. She said she was going to check some of her books and 'google' some ideas.

Left alone once more, Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed and lovingly cleaned every bit of cool visible skin, face and neck, the exposed v of Crowley's chest where the top buttons of the shirt were left undone, and every inch of Crowley's lovely long fingered hands. Clean shirt, Aziraphale thought, not now but soon, and then he could wash away the blood. Right now he couldn't face seeing the damaged flesh.

At some point Anathema brought him tea and he sat at Crowley's side sipping at the Earl Grey and alternating between thinking how to save Crowley and how he was going to punish Gabriel.

*

Adam was annoyed. He didn't like not being able to do things he wanted to. While he could dislike but accept that his parents gave him boundaries, he could not accept being helpless to save Mr Crowley. It was Mr Crowley and Mr Aziraphale who'd helped him turn against Satan and he would always be grateful that he'd been able to save the world. There was lots of good in the world. Whales, and dogs, and cake, and comics, apple trees and summer days and so much more.

"If this was a story it would have a happy ending," Brian said, lying on the grass in defiance of the three blankets so carefully laid out.

Newt had wrapped up the knife in a dozen serviettes before he picked it up and followed the other adults back to the cottage. The children had been left behind and helped themselves to the abandoned food. Wensleydale had eaten three sausages rolls and two sandwiches already.

"It's not a story," Pepper said with authority.

"Actually," Wensleydale said, around a mouthful of salt and vinegar crisps, "when you tell someone about your life, like a biography or in a journal, it's called a narrative. It's like a story."

"A true story," Adam said, an idea coming to him, dancing at the edges of his imagination.

Wensleydale frowned, swallowed. "Yes. Only sometimes people don't tell the truth."

Pepper nodded. "My mother read a book all about this king, and she said it was grossly inaccurate and romanticised and written by someone trying to paint him in a sympathetic light."

A story about real life but told differently...

"Then I'll tell a story," Adam said. "There's a story parents read to little kids [3] isn't there? About a wicked witch who sends the princess to sleep?"

The others nodded, Pepper having some opinions about the Grimm Brothers and Disney and the patriarchal notion of a woman having to wait around for some man to show up. Adam stopped listening to her, trying to gather his thoughts.

It had to feel like a story. Because a story could have a happy ending. A story understood the spell Anathema had used and could undo it. When Adam willed things into existence it was like telling the world a story of how he wanted it to be. This was just another way of telling the world how it was going to be and the world was going to obey.

"Once upon a time there was a wedding," Adam said and was promptly interrupted.

It took some time to get through the story with his friends trying to help. Adam kept going however.

"The kind angel was sad," Adam said, "and he said he would wait a thousand years if he had to for the demon to wake up. But a thousand years is too long. And so he-"

This was the pivotal moment. How did one break a spell, heal a wound, save the sleeping prince or princess?

"He kissed the demon because he loved him very much." Adam knew Mr Crowley and Mr Aziraphale were in love. They lived together like Anathema and Newt, and they were always smiling at each other like he saw the postman and his wife doing when they were out together. Also his father and mother sometimes discussed it when they thought he wasn't listening. Lots of 'not that anyone minds in this day and age' and 'well some people do but why would you, they're so polite, well Mr Fell anyway' and 'do you think they'll get married, they can do that now, which is nice, isn't it?'

If Mr Fell and Mr Crowley might get married then they must be in love.

Adam nodded to himself. "And that love broke the good witch's spell and the evil angel's curse and the demon was healed and he woke up and they lived-"

Happily ever after seemed not real enough for this particular story.

"They went back to the bookshop and talked about getting married." He didn't say "The End" in case it caused the end of the demon and angel. But the finality in his voice made it clear that this particular story was done and the world ought to be making it so.

*

Perhaps one of the books in his occult collection might have some clues, Aziraphale pondered, pacing the room. Perhaps he should send Newt? On the other hand they couldn't stay here for long, occupying the sole bedroom of the cottage.

Anathema had a futon in her lounge she said she and Newt could use but that was a temporary solution. They would have to go home, so maybe the book could wait until Aziraphale could organise transport to get Crowley safely back to London.

Aziraphale was befuddled and unable to make a decision. He was utterly bereft.

He gave up pacing and knelt at the side of the bed, clasping Crowley's hand in his. "My dear. please wake up. I will wait a thousand years if I have to, but I don't know how I can manage even a week without you."

Tears blurred his vision again and he said, voice trembling, "I love you, Crowley. So very much."

The world seemed to stand still and become infused with warmth. Almost without conscious thought Aziraphale got to his feet and leaned over. He kissed Crowley's forehead reverently.

Aziraphale felt something happen. The warmth was gone, the world was turning, the heaviness of the magical spell dissolved.

Crowley opened his eyes. His beautiful yellow eyes.

"'Ziraphale?"

The spell was broken but the wound - Aziraphale shoved back the throw, scrambling to get Crowley's shirt open. There was no sign of the wound. Aziraphale let out a tearful cry of joy.

"Was Gabriel here?" Crowley asked, clasping Aziraphale's hand so that it stayed against his chest, warm once more as blood flowed through his veins, his heart beating reassuringly against Aziraphale's fingers. "Wait, that bastard stabbed me!"

"Yes. But it's all right now. It's all right. My dear." Aziraphale bent over and kissed Crowley's forehead again.

Crowley shifted position, wincing as his muscles began working again. He slid his legs over the edge of the bed. "Hey. Come here."

Crowley grasped Aziraphale's face in both hands. He rested his forehead against Aziraphale's and for a long moment they cherished this contact.

"I thought I had lost you," Aziraphale said finally. He sat on the edge of the bed. Crowley wrapped one arm around him.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

Aziraphale nodded miserably, understanding finally what Crowley had gone through when he'd thought him destroyed in the bookshop fire that had now never happened (or had at least been undone) but was indelibly recorded in Crowley's memories.

"More than I can ever say."

Crowley pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's hair. "I know."

In a moment Aziraphale would have to call Anathema and let her and Newt know the good news. But he needed a few more minutes to fully appreciate this miracle for himself, however it had happened.

"I meant it, you know," Crowley murmured. "I don't regret a moment of our time together."

Aziraphale snuggled up closer. "Nor I."

*

After all the drama they agreed to stay the night and have the picnic the next day, saving as much of the food as possible. Crowley was determined not to let Gabriel rob them of the pleasure they'd been indulging in.

Anathema and Newt took the futon. Their guests shared the bed, Aziraphale not sleeping but watching over Crowley, who did sleep but a natural slumber and not the terrible stillness of the magical coma earlier that day.

They had the blade, Aziraphale reflected, and while the energy contained in it was gone, it was still evidence of Gabriel's vigilantism. He wasn't certain what to do yet but he thought he might be able to make a formal complaint, have Gabriel punished. The idea gave him some small comfort.

The next day they headed out to the same spot and if Aziraphale miracled a few more items up to replace any spoiled ones, and Anathema warded a large circle around them for protection, no-one said anything.

"So it was just like in a story, like Adam said?" Pepper asked Aziraphale. "Like a fairy tale?"

Aziraphale caught Adam's eye and nodded. "Much like that, yes."

When he got the boy alone for a moment, as the others began a game of hide and seek, he asked quietly, "Did you help us? Did you find a way?"

Adam shrugged. "I just told a story with a happy ending."

Aziraphale nodded. "Thank you."

"Are you going to marry Mr Crowley?" Adam asked innocently, almost causing Aziraphale to choke on the wine he'd just been sipping.

"I - er - I don't know."

Adam ran off to join his friends. Aziraphale rejoined the adults. Crowley slipped one arm around his waist, sensing he still needed reassurance after their close call.

*

That evening, back at the bookshop, Aziraphale made cocoa and sat alongside Crowley. He'd been unable to get Adam's question out of his mind and felt almost compelled to raise the subject.

"Crowley, my dear with all that's gone on, I think I need to discuss something with you."

"What's that, angel?"

And Crowley spluttered into his cocoa when Aziraphale said, " Marriage."

* * *

[1] Crowley had been good friends with John Dee and it stood to reason that, probably after a night of heavy drinking, he'd been the one to divulge the Enochian script to the self-styled magician. Since Dee had only got the language partially right, and most people weren't taking it seriously, and that even angels only tended to use Enochian for the most official forms thinking it outdated bordering on archaic, the reveal had gone unpunished and unrectified. [return to text]

[2] Wensleydale had shown the Them that word in one of his magazines and explained it was om-nip-ot-ent and not omknee-pot-ent as Brian had tried to say it. [return to text]

[3] Anyone younger than Adam was a little kid [return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen a couple of fics that give me a Sleeping Beauty vibe but not in this exact way (though there's still lots of Good Omens whump fic I haven't read yet) so I wrote one.  
I love Pratchett's themes around narrative and stories, and I love fairytale retellings so this was a fun one to write though it didn't come exactly as I expected when I started it! Don't these two deserve all the fairy tales?


End file.
